Cutter
by The Smiling Shadow
Summary: His name used to be John Smith. And John Smith had a broken life, with nothing but drugs and blood. A life when all he had were the scars he made from cutting himself. All he had to do was jump, jump and end it. But then Agent Brown came...


Cutter  
  
"You lied! You lied!" The woman pushed him away.  
  
"No! It wasn't my fault! It wasn't my fault!" He said, reaching for her.  
  
"Liar! You always lie to me, John!"  
  
"No, sweetheart! I promise not this time, not this time!"  
  
"No!"  
  
Then she started running away from him, like she always did. Always running from him. Everyone ran from him.  
  
"No, don't leave me! Don't leave me!" He yelled at her.  
  
But she ran, pushing the apartment door open, and almost running into the hallway wall. But she didn't stop. She just kept running, slipping her torn shirt on, and tripping on her way to the stairs. Just keep running, just get as far away from him as you can.  
  
Just keep crying, and letting the tears fall. It doesn't matter. It isn't like he ever wiped them away.  
  
"Please don't leave me!"  
  
He yelled, running into the hallway. He held out his hand, still trying to reach for her. Holding out his arms, ready to grab her, and hold her, and make her believe him. Make her believe him like he always did.  
  
But she kept running. She kept leaving him.  
  
He stood there, waiting and waiting in the hallway, telling himself she would come back.  
  
He crawled back to the torn futon. He crawled through his small apartment, his always breaking fridgerator, and small buzzing Deep Image television. The torn carpet, and unbalanced coffee table. The tearing red couch. The horrible, cold floors. The holes in the wall. His home. His only home. His prison. His zoo.  
  
He crawled onto the bed, covering himself in the covers. Shielding himself from the world, trying to make them go away.  
  
This was his life. This was his broken life. Having to take the bus and subway to get to a job. A job where he only pressed a button. A job that barely paid. A broken home, that he can barely pay for. His rent was going up. His broken home with the toilet and sink always getting clogged up. More holes seem to appear on the wall. No windows in his home. Good thing he thinks. People outside, people with guns, and in gangs. A broken neighborhood, the only one he can afford. A broken neighborhood with danger everyone. This was his life. His only sanctuary with that woman. With her.  
  
"Amber...I'm sorry..."  
  
Why did he always lie to her? Why did he tell her he was okay? Why did he lie about the scars? About the alcohol? The drugs?  
  
Why did he lie? What compelled him to stay with her and lie? Why didn't he understand?  
  
This was his life. And it wasn't worth living.  
  
That's what happens when you have no mom, and your dad beats you. He told himself. That's what happens when you're the geek in school, when all you know is mocking. That's what happens when you're mugged almost all the time. That's what happens when you live in a place like this, where murders take place. That's what happens when you've seen a man being killed right in front of you. That's what happens...That's how it goes.  
  
That's what happens when you use drugs, and cut yourself just because you like the blood and colors. That's what happens when you keep drinking, and fall asleep on the bar's floor. That's what happens when you don't eat, and start throwing up for no reason.  
  
He sat up in his dark apartment. It didn't have any windows. It was always dark. Always night. Always time to sleep. He started searching for it. Searching for it under his bed. The one thing he could always rely on to make all the bad stuff go away. Make the world that hurts him go away. Make it stop hurting so much. He grabbed some alcohol, maybe something else. And crawled into the corner. Then everything stopped hurting for a little while. In his broken mind, he frolicked in the relief. But like everything else the relief would leave him, and he would return to the hurtful world.  
  
This is what happens when you did this to yourself...he whispers.  
  
This is what happens when you loose touch of reality into computers...  
  
This is how it goes...

"You think the rules don't apply to you. You think you are special."  
  
He lowers his head, and begins to tune out the voice of his boss. He knows what's coming. He knows it. It's always happened to him.  
  
"You're fired."  
  
He doesn't say anything. He doesn't look at his boss. He just leaves. He just leaves like he always does. Always being fired. Always trying his hardest, and his hardest not being good enough.  
  
He walks to the subway. Going down the stairs, he begins to take off his tie, and jacket.  
  
He walks the streets, trying to get to his apartment.  
  
"Hey, Johnny." A voice from an alley calls him.  
  
He just starts walking faster, past the voice.  
  
"Johnny I got a new supply!" the voice calls. "I'll sell it to ya cheap, Johnny! Johnny!"  
  
"I'm quitting!" He calls.  
  
"Quitting? Johnny you can't quite, not now!"  
  
But then he begins running. Running away from what he knows is bad for him, but wants it anyway. The drugs make everything better. The drugs make it ok. But he knows it's a lie he's telling himself.  
  
He runs up the stairs of his apartment, still running.  
  
"John, I need the rent." His owner is in his way.  
  
"I...I don't have it..." He admits.  
  
"John, I told you, I need it! John I'll have to kick you outta here. Hear me, John!? Hear me!? You wanna live in the streets!? You wanna!?"  
  
But John just runs past his owner, and ignores her echoing voice.  
  
He runs into his room. And tries to make everything go away. Tries to stop his hand from reaching for the beer, drugs, or knife.  
  
He sits in the corner again. A knife in his hand. His hand shakes, and his lip trembles.  
  
You should stop, he tells himself. You need to stop.  
  
But he doesn't, as he tilts his head, and begins to roll up his sleeve. Revealing the cuts all along his arm. He shivers at the sight of the scars.  
  
Did I do that to myself? He asks.  
  
But he begins cutting himself again. Cutting again and again, and again. It makes the pain of his world feel less bad. It makes everything seem better. The blood that drips from his arm, slips onto the carpet. And he likes it. He likes the feel of blood going down his arm. He likes the taste of it, and the smell of it. And he scares himself.  
  
But he just continues.  
  
Cut...  
  
Cut...  
  
Drip...  
  
Drip...  
  
Then he starts crying. Because he know he did this to himself, and he can't understand why.  
  
This is why everyone leaves you. This is why everyone runs away from you. This is why they do this to you.  
  
This is why the world has turned its back on you.  
  
You did this to yourself. You ruined your own life. You made it this prison. You made it like this.  
  
This is why no one cares about you.  
  
Stop crying, you did this to yourself, accept it!  
  
Cutter. Cutter!  
  
But he doesn't stop. He can't stop. He just cuts and cuts and cuts, trying to make everyone come back. Trying to make someone love him. Trying to make it better.

..  
  
"John, I'm pregnant. It's yours."  
  
That's all she says. That's all. Amber calls, and that's all she says. Then she hangs up the phone. Not telling him she loves him, she's going to help, where she is, if it's a boy or girl. She only says that, void of emotion.  
  
Then she leaves him again, and he cries, and cuts.

  
  
Jump, get it over with. This will make it better you know that. This is the only way. Just jump it isn't that hard. They say you'll die before you even hit the ground. It's okay. No one will miss you. It's okay.  
  
Jump.  
  
He stands there, looking down at the far away ground.  
  
The world did this to him. The world turned its back on him.  
  
He sighs, it is cold, and he can see his breath. The city buzzes, and he doesn't care. He just focuses on the ground.  
  
Just jump and everything will be better.  
  
He scratches his arm, the scabs and scars of his cuts. His eyes are red and watery from crying.  
  
He closes his eyes.  
  
"Do not proceed, Mr. Smith."  
  
He stops and looks behind him. A man in a suit.  
  
"Who are you!?" He calls, almost crying.  
  
"My name is Agent Brown." The man says.  
  
"What do you want!? You gonna save me? You hear for me? For buying those drugs?"  
  
"No."  
  
John Smith looks down at the ground again.  
  
"Then what do you want!?" He asks.  
  
"I am here to offer you a proposal." Agent Brown takes a step closer.  
  
"Proposal?"  
  
"Yes. You see Mr. Smith, I am in an organization. And we are in search for an addition to our team. We need a leader, Mr. Smith."  
  
"Leader." He laughs. "Yeah right. You want me as your leader. I'm gonna jump if you don't mind."  
  
"We need someone that is aware of pain."  
  
John Smith stops. Pain. Pain, he knows well.  
  
"We need someone that is aware of the human mind. We need someone that will be able to understand humankind. That will be our leader. A leader capable of estimating the human mind. But we also need someone willing. Mr. Smith, we need you." Agent Brown explains.  
  
"Me...?" John Smith turns around.  
  
"Yes. Don't you want the pain to go away? We can provide that. We can provide you with comfort. We can provide you with no more pain. No memory of pain."  
  
Agent Brown began walking towards John.  
  
"How?" John asked, wanting this.  
  
"Do you agree?"  
  
"What will I be doing?"  
  
"You will be doing exactly what you want. You will be making the pain go away, and the providers of that pain."  
  
John looked up at the stranger. This man in a suit. This man offering him bliss. He didn't care the fact he didn't know this man. He didn't care if he shouldn't trust his offers. If there was another way out. If there was another way for the pain to go away, then he'll take it without any resistance.  
  
"I agree." He says.  
  
"Good..." Brown nods. "Then come with me."  
  
Agent Brown leads him to a car, where he introduces him to Agent Jones. They take him to the other side of the city, never speaking to him, or looking at him. He doesn't care, he just wants it all to go away.  
  
He must have sat in that car for hours. But he didn't care. He never cared.  
  
They lead him into a hallway, and endless hallway with endless green doors.  
  
"What is this?" He asks.  
  
But they don't answer, and only open one door. And he goes through it.  
  
"Ah, John Smith." A voice welcomes him. "I am the Architect."  
  
"Architect?"  
  
John Smith looks over at the man in the white suit.  
  
"You want freedom? Just go through that door, Mr. Smith." He point to the door to his right.  
  
And he goes through it without any regret, without any resistence.  
  
Inside there is the Source. And the Source begins to break his code down, and he screams in pain. The Source begins to separate his mind from his body. The Source begins to kill the human inside. The Source starts erasing every memory, every pain, and starts inputting commands, and a link between John and it. The Source kills the human body, and molds the mind into something else. The Source kills John, and leaves only Smith.  
  
And John never knew there could be such a pain, as he is killed by green coding and a bright light. He closes his eyes, and waits for it to go away.  
  
Then The Source provides all the data on the Matrix, and his objectives. The Source changes his coding into a suit. The Source gives him an earpiece and he is connected to the Agent Mainframe. The Source gives him sunglasses.  
  
They took away the human. They killed the human, and a dead battery sits in its pod, about to be dumped. They took the human mind, and molded it to their own purposes. They took away John. They took him and killed him, and only left Smith.  
  
And Agent Smith walked out the door, back to the Architect, where he saw him smiling.  
  
"I am Agent Smith." He says.  
  
"I am Agent Brown."  
  
"I am Agent Jones."  
  
And they nod to each other.  
  
They took everything away. Yet, just like before the world turned its back on Smith. The Source turned its back on him. And when he began to smell the smells, no one helped him. No one cared. When he was killed, when he came back for Mr. Anderson, no one cared. No one helped.  
  
And he did that to himself.  
  
No one cared as he began cutting himself in that human body named Bane. No one came for him in his death. No one ever cared about John Smith, or Agent Smith.  
  
And the only thing that gave him comfort was the cutting of his own arm.


End file.
